Baldivan Glaivereaver
by silverwell
Summary: The adventures and misadventures of Baldivan Glaivereaver. All events are based on RolePlay as well as filler chapters that expand on Baldivan's backstory. Reviews give me sustenance! Two chapters have been combined, resulting in one less total chapter.
1. Chapter 1: One Mug of Coffee

**Author's Note:** Two chapters have been combined into one. Chapter two has been renamed and contains twice as much content as before. Nothing is changed.

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"Found you!" the voice was nearly inaudible to Baldivan's ears. His eyes opened, and in the split second he regained his senses, the blade of a Warden was at his throat. He had hoped beyond hope that he was safe deep in the wilds of Feralas, that he could safely research his arcane spells he practiced. He had travelled so far from home on foot, mostly on his own now, that he dared let himself hope the Wardens deemed him too far and given up in the pursuit.  
But, alas, they were persistent, and he had gone lax in his defenses. They led him back home, paraded him around as one of the Betrayer's loyalists, and then buried him alive. Just how the Betrayer himself had been dealt with, being buried alive, in an underground cell.  
There, Baldivan had paced his cell, unable to call upon the magics he studied, the magics he sorely missed. The wards saw to that. He would never again feel the power he once wielded, the power he could control, the power he wanted to use to make Kalimdor a better place. Or, so he thought.  
After an eternity, Baldivan felt the wards fail and the arcane magics return to him. He made his escape through the sounds of chaos and into the uncertainty of the bright forest. He fled through the floral, and ran until he collapsed in exhaustion. He swore he felt a presence similar to Illidan's, and even with most of his memory fractured and faded from living in the enormous darkness of his cell, he followed the presence. There was nothing else he could remember quite as clearly as Illidan, and Illidan's desire to save the world.

Metal hissed in Baldivan's dreams and he jerked awake.  
The felhound whined in Baldivan's mind, protesting its boredom. He could feel his own eye sockets tense as if he were rolling his eyes. Such a thing was no longer possible when his eyes were removed and felfire had replaced them. But as the felhound whined again, he pushed it back to its usual corner of his mind, focusing instead on the horizon before him.  
The ocean was beautiful, even during the day. The way the waves reflected the sun's light had always fascinated Baldivan. Since his vision had changed when binding with Flaatom, Baldivan always admired the way everything appeared to him in a different way. Though he could see shapes and objects as a human or dwarf could see them, for an Illidari, there were many more layers and magics he could see as well. The light reflecting on the ocean's waves not only registered about the same, but the water itself gave off a gentle aura as well.  
A kaldorei woman stopped and greeted him with a nod and a gesture to the mug of coffee in his hand. Baldivan's gaze went to the coffee and back to her. Though for as late in the day as it was, Baldivan needed it to wake himself up more. He wouldn't remember much from the first time he met the druidess Elyowynn, but he would forever be thankful for the strong beverage he took with him, for it seems that was what had brought her there.  
A town crier had stopped by at one point and left a flyer for a formal event at some manor in Boralus the following day. If they left that evening, they'd be able to make it in time. Baldivan hadn't any plans, so he offered the druidess company.

Baldivan would be doubly thankful for the evening he met Elyowynn. Though he had to leave his warglaive-turned-swords at the gate, he thoroughly enjoyed the evening at the manor. A few drinks, pandaren made noodles and fireworks. It was an evening he had begun to desperately need, an evening under the stars with a friendly face. It was to his greatest relief that she hadn't outright shunned him for being a demon hunter. She would prove to be the familial figure he wanted, too.  
After they had returned to Stormwind, he would never remember whom offered to spar first. It became a sparring match that turned into what Baldivan would consider a terrible accident. His felhound began to take control during the match, and to his dismay, he had broken each set of vines sprouting from her legs. He eventually passed out from struggling internally and from taking a hard blow.  
Eventually, he woke up a couple hours later. She hadn't left his side, just as he had watched over her when she took a nap not far from Lion's Rest earlier that day. Despite profusely apologizing the next hour or so he had recouped, Elyo insisted she would be just fine. Her lower legs would regrow, and be as good as new.  
Baldivan grew fond of her, in spite of having just met her. He had called her 'sister' without even realizing it at first, and she took it in stride.

After a few more weeks, she had told him, "Brother, I'm going back to the warfront in a couple months."  
"Sister?" He was dumbfounded, though he knew it deep down, she wouldn't be long for the war again. She was a battle medic.  
She gave him a grin, "Will you be so despondent without me?"  
Baldivan snorted and chuckled, "You know who will be. You spoil him too much."  
"Well, he's too well behaved and cute not to spoil," she teased, giving him a push.  
Flaatom had taken a liking to her, and the felhound's trust was well placed. Elyo often grew and plucked a vine from the ground for Flaatom whenever he sometimes bubbled up to the surface. Coupled with a scratches around his horns, Flaatom melted, causing Baldivan's tail to wag so fast it became a blur. Baldivan felt incredibly lucky to have been bound to Flaatom, the felhound was incredibly well behaved and was about as fond of the Legion as most Kaldorei were.


	2. Chapter 2: Dreams and a Faded Memory

"I would do anything to save Azeroth. Even if that means releasing you."  
Who said that? Where did the voice come from...?  
Baldivan slowly roused from his dark, dreamless slumber, but he soon found he couldn't move. There was nothing he could do but mentally struggle against the hard surface that smothered his entire body. Even the demon he was bound to hated this sensation, unable to breathe, unable to so much as twitch.  
The demon, Baldivan had begun to panic when he felt its presence bubble up from deep within. The demon that whined and desperately wanted to snap it's jaws – Baldivan's jaws – around anything with magic, and suck it dry.  
Baldivan felt his prison shudder and crack...  
"The Legion will stop at nothing to destroy our world," Illidan's voice boomed over the Illidari. "And -we- will sacrifice everything to stop them!"  
Baldivan truly believed it, the Legion will burn everything. He witnessed the felfires before, in his patchy memories of before his first imprisonment.

Baldivan's prison shattered and the broken crystal cascaded around him. He fell to his hands and knees, taking a deep breath. "Come on, brother," an Illidari urged him. "Get up and get your glaives. The Legion comes! The Legion comes!"  
He didn't need to be told again. Baldivan stood, shakily at first, but he regained himself quickly. Flaatom yipped in anticipation that he would be getting some magic to devour. To Baldivan's relief, his warglaives were nearby, waiting patiently as if they knew he'd be awake to reclaim them again.  
The room shuddered and almost sent Baldivan to the ground. Battle sounds finally registered into his ears, voices called, cried and echoed incoherently. The stench of fel filled Baldivan's nostrils and the noise almost overpowered him when he emerged from the side room he had been kept in.

The Illidari and a few Wardens had a huge, bat-winged and hooved demon surrounded.  
"You will all be fodder to the felhounds," the huge demon bellowed and spat in the demonic tongue. Flaatom roared angrily in Baldivan's mind, hatred surging from the demon bound to the kaldorei. Flaatom hated the monster before them, memories of being punished and rebuked flooded into Baldivan's mind from the inner demon. The demon hunter charged, warglaives raised and poised to strike.  
Through the worst luck Baldivan has ever had, the demon struck back at the collective attack, sending the assault and Baldivan back. Baldivan's left hand was numb, and when he looked, only the hilt of the warglaive remained, the blades shattered and broken away. In Baldivan's right hand, the warglaive had somehow survived being completely shattered, but the hilt hand been broken. With no other option, Baldivan picked up each piece of the warglaive-turned-swords in each hand, and charged again.

The livid dream of the fight faded to the prison he had been trapped in, the prison he had been sent to for over nine thousand years. He paced one way, then he paced the other way. When his legs finally tired, he sat against the wall, his own mind fading between consciousness and a dreamless state. Memories began to fade, like a plucked flower set out to dry for too long. When Flaatom pushed himself into the dream, it was like suddenly finding a beloved, forgotten friend. Baldivan knew he shouldn't care for the demon, but the dogged determination to please the master was the hunter's greatest relief. Flaatom wanted to please Baldivan.  
Even though he didn't immediately begin sharing his memories, Flaatom shared them, of stalking, chasing, devouring magic and feasting on flesh. It often made Baldivan queasy. He whined and whimpered, unusual in the dreams of the dark cage that Baldivan was sometimes unwillingly subjected to.

"What is wrong with you, pupper," Baldivan asked.  
"Sisa, Sisa," came his rough reply.  
"Sister?" Baldivan held his head to his chest with one hand as he laid his other arm over Flaatom's thick mane. Memories of Elyowynn flooded into his mind, causing his head to pound. Flaatom squirmed anxiously in his master's arms, repeating his word for Elyowynn a few more times.  
The splitting headache finally snapped him out of his dream, "Oh, my head." He lay on a stone bench in the Moonglade. His presence there was barely tolerated with how standoffish many of the elven druids treated him. The druids in general seemed to loathe him, but so long as he proved he was no threat, Elyowynn's word seemed barely good enough for him to stay for the time she prepared for her departure to the battlefield.

"Bleh," Baldivan pushed himself to sit up, "Why do I taste wood in my mouth?"  
"Flaatom decided to chew on your brush," Elyowynn offered his brush back with a snicker.  
As Baldivan took his brush back, Flaatom whined inside his mind as he shared the memory of biting down on the brush handle. The felhunter had wanted to suck magic out of it, but hadn't even bothered to check while he answered Elyowynn's question of what him and Baldivan dreamt about. Baldivan chuckled as he shook his head slightly, "Thank you for having him wake me. I'd rather not find out what the other druids would do to me if they thought he could control me like that."  
"You're safe here so long as I see to it," Elyowynn reassured him, giving him a nudge with her elbow.

As Baldivan pulled some of his hair over his shoulder to brush, his gaze turned to the book on the ground, titled "Cenarius and the First Druids". He hadn't even noticed it fall off the bench.  
"You got here after me, looking like you got beaten up," Elyowynn's voice carried worry and a stern tone. A nod from Baldivan confirmed it. "What happened?"  
"There was a blood mage that needed help stopping an invasion of undeath and plagues."  
Elyowynn gave him a stern stare, "Blood mage and undeath?" and dragged him into a firm hug. "Brother, you berate me for going into the battlefield, but you risk your own life anyways?"  
Baldivan choked, one arm around Elyowynn while his other arm supported his weight. "You would have mounted my horns on a hearth if something happened to Feathers."  
"Feathers was there, too!" She sounded livid, "I swear if I lost either of you, I might as well be destroyed."  
Baldivan couldn't bring himself to speak another word, he could only hold her in their embrace as he choked down sobs.  
"You both, and Flaatom also, mean too much to me to lose."

Baldivan didn't stay much longer in Moonglade. Everywhere he had turned was met with suspicious stares and contempt glares. A couple days later, he returned to Stormwind.  
Flaatom wouldn't stop digging through Baldivan's memories. He wanted to remember something in his master's mind, even when Baldivan insisted the demon stop. Finally, Baldivan gave in, though only when Flaatom had agreed to let him lock himself in his room first. Flaatom reluctantly agreed and stopped his insistent searching long enough for Baldivan to relax into his chair next to a simple desk.  
The demon whined and whimpered as he sniffed, causing Baldivan to inhale deeply through his nose. There were no smells to trigger the right memory, though Flaatom wasn't entirely surprised. They were a continent away from where it happened. With another whine, the demon opened his mind to his master, and a handful of memories of Darnassus flooded through both their minds.  
Shadowglen was the first place Baldivan wanted to see. The corner of Teldrassil was so tranquil, so peaceful, Baldivan didn't want to leave. The haunting peacefulness captivated him like no other place. If it hadn't been for the druid's mistrust of him, and their constant suspicious gazes, Baldivan believed he would have stayed there until the tree burned down.

Flaatom groaned softly, nudging his master back to Darnassus. The memory of seeing a wanted poster came to them. A goblin warlock was wrecking mayhem on the wildlife in Stonetalon, accusing her of using wildlife to fuel horrible experiments used against the local Cenarion Circle and a small kaldorei town.  
Before he could leave for Stonetalon, Flaatom's curiosity piqued at the sight of the Temple of the Moon. Baldivan had still believed in Elune then, and when he saw kaldorei citizens gathering there, he tentatively approached the bridge to the entrance. Everywhere he went in Teldrassil had been met with accusing glares and resentment, but as he neared the temple, the stares had only intensified.  
Two priestesses had approached him, blocking his path into the Temple. One of them, a rank higher than the other, scowled at Baldivan, "You are not welcome here, demon."  
Baldivan bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off the pair, "I come in peace, priestesses. I wish only to listen to a sermon."  
The pair glanced to each other as if considering Baldivan's words. Finally, the higher priestess said, "We will be keeping a very close eye on you. Any hostility will be met with Elune's swift justice."  
They parted just enough to let Baldivan pass. His tail curled and flexed with Flaatom's anxious energy. Briefly being so close to the two priestesses urged Flaatom to turn on them, to devour their flesh and drain their magics. But, Baldivan quickly pushed the demon down in his mind, reminding him that they were not enemies to eat.

Finally inside the Temple, Baldivan opted for standing in the rear as the congregation stood before the statue of Elune and the fountain. A priestess stood on the edge of the fountain, welcoming the crowd and introducing herself as Priestess Roraelis Autumnsong. The pear-shaped and lightly muscled priestess gave Baldivan the sense that she could stand her ground if she needed to. Even Flaatom seemed to take note of her posture, making both wonder if she trained with a weapon like many Priestesses did.  
Roraelis spread her arms, briefly closing her eyes as Elune's light engulfed her. All eyes were on her when she began speaking, though Baldivan only remembered getting distracted as Flaatom's urge to hunt and devour surfaced again.  
"All our mistakes, and she never abandoned us. It was through her grace and her fury that we were able to wrestle our planet from the grip of the Legion, and while we still had our prices to paid for our vanity… She never gave up on us." Those words struck an odd cord in Baldivan. He wanted to believe Elune was still with him, a part of him wanted to feel Elune's light again, but her grace had left him millennia ago, before he was even imprisoned for practicing Arcane spells. His gut wrenched, making him nauseous, and he felt he had to leave.  
Baldivan was a demon hunter, filled with felfire that fueled his heightened senses and reflexes. The last thing he heard of the sermon was "For faith is the beginning of all things." Perhaps that was once true for him, but now, Baldivan had only himself and Flaatom to count on.

"Alright, alright," Baldivan thought silently to Flaatom, "Let's get going. There's a warlock for you to eat." His tail wagged happily as he stalked away from the sermon, ignoring the priestesses' suspicious gazes.  
Stonetalon was a long ride away, but fortunately for Baldivan, he wouldn't need to suffer the saddle sores or hard ride. He took the wanted poster he grabbed to one of the Temple's antechambers that portals were usually utilized in. There, he showed it to the mage in charge of providing portals, and was allowed a one-way transport until the job was done. Baldivan was told if he managed to deal with the rogue warlock and provide proof, he'd be given teleportation back to Darnassus as well as payment.  
Flaatom yipped and snapped his jaws in Baldivan's mind, replaying their memory of the sermon again. He paid more attention to the crowd this time, as if trying to find someone he recognized. Even though with their minds combined, none of the others looked familiar. With a whine, Flaatom summoned more memories of Darnassus.  
The felhound was determined to find the familiar face it wanted to see, to remember the scent of their magics. He acted as though he hadn't seen them in ages. To Baldivan's suspicion, he knew the demon was looking for memories of Sister. "You are just determined to find her? To see if we've met her before?" Flaatom sent him a feeling of affirmation.

Baldivan tensed, tail flicking over his lap as he heard a woman humming softly and a baby cooing. Flaatom sensed his master's sudden change and stopped his searching, his mind partially melding with Baldivan's. The humming continued as Baldivan's breath caught in his throat and his chest tightened. Where was this noise coming from, he couldn't tell. It was definitely not from outside the room, that he could tell.  
In a corner of their minds, a memory, pitch as black and indiscernible from the rest of the dark recesses, it bulged as if trying to take the shape of an event. Baldivan focused and grasped at it, trying to trap it in the snares of his consciousness, but it began to dissipate through his mental grasp.  
Flaatom whined and barked hoarsely, which seemed to have some effect on the memory. The infant cooing turned to a groan and whimperings, the gentle humming turned into a desperate cry and an indecipherable, desperate shout. Whoever it was in this memory sounded suddenly desperate as the sounds of roaring fires blazed in Baldivan and Flaatom's senses.  
More screams sounded, a few sobbed loudly like sirens and the demonic tongue roared evil orders. Baldivan inhaled sharply, clutching his chest as the scent of charred wood, burned bodies and fel washed over his senses. Flaatom barked and yipped, a contorted mixture of the excitement of hunting anything he could set his sights on and the pain his master was suddenly feeling.  
Baldivan tried to rise to his feet, to shake off this feeling of dread and despair, to get away from it or anything, but he fell to his knees, and passed out.


	3. Chapter 3: A Memory Within A Memory

**Author's Note: **The roleplayer behind the character that injured Baldivan did not want his character in my fanfiction. I am obligated to keep him out of it, but I also needed to set up what happened to the best of my abilities. There was RP revolving the sparring match, but it will only be lightly touched upon to open this chapter.

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The sparring match had quickly turned ugly to Baldivan. He tried going easy on the large human, but ended up taking an ax swing to his torso that bit deep. The wound felt hot and angry, like a chasm that spit fire. Before he knew it, Baldivan had been deposited outside the Command for the Stormwind City Patrollers. The two druidesses there, Elyowynn and Feathers, went to work fast. They took him downstairs, laid him on a cot, and summoned their soothing magics to mend the wound before he bled out completely. When he had been wounded, Flaatom had taken over out of instinct to protect his master, giving him a more demonic look. In spite of his more demonic features, he responded to the healing without resistance, to the two healers' relief.  
Elyowynn opted to heal Baldivan's broken nose as Feathers concentrated on his front. The druidess at his head reassured Flaatom, "Be a good boy, Flaatom! I'll give you a really juicy treat if you be a good boy!" It worked. As the wounds mended, his tail began slapping the floor as if a happy puppy had taken over. Even when he wanted to squirm, Flaatom found he wasn't able to get very far. The bloodloss had taken too great a toll for him to move more than a few inches.

"Flaatom protect Van," the demon said as Elyowynn finished mending his nose.  
"I know you did, Flaatom," she reassured him. More to herself than either of the other two, she added, "I'm going to hit him."  
Feathers glanced up at her. "Please don't hurt the cadet," she said firmly. Baldivan's wound was almost fully closed. The damage just under the skin would still need time to fully heal, but he was no longer in danger of bleeding to death. A heavy silence hung over them as Feathers finished her work. Elyowynn had begun to brush out Baldivan's hair with her fingers as the other druidess left them alone to answer a call in another part of the city.

The demon pushed himself up onto one elbow and gave Elyowynn a tired look. Elyowynn smirked down at him, "You're being a very good boy."  
As she began digging her claws around Baldivan's horns, Flaatom relaxed next to her, "Van sleep. More dream of dark cave." His tail slowed, almost to a stop as he melted under the scratching. Elyowynn placed her hands on each side of his face as Flaatom began to fall into a deep sleep. A sweet, emerald glow engulfed her hands as she closed her eyes and willed Baldivan and his demon into a dream.

Baldivan paced the underground cell. He paced one way. Then paced the other way. He paced until his legs finally tired and he sat against one of the warded walls. He contemplated suicide, even though he knew he would fail. He'd tried taking his life a few times before, but one of the wards always healed him as fast as he inflicted his own injury. There was no escape from this dark prison.  
Flaatom barked and whined, materializing before Baldivan's eyes. Eyes! Somehow, having eyes suddenly felt more overwhelming than the felhunter that appeared before him. Baldivan grasped his face, feeling his closed eyelids and the orbs he missed under them. Flaatom whined softly as he approached Baldivan, nuzzling his master's arms.

A light filtered into the center of the room. It was a gentle, warm, emerald glow at first, then it flashed and expanded quickly, consuming both the kaldorei and demon. The light felt comforting, like a child finding comfort in the embrace of their mother. Baldivan no longer felt the cold, dark confines of his cell anymore. It was replaced by the gentle warmth of the sun and fresh air that carried the familiar scents of potent flowers. Flaatom turned away from Baldivan and barked urgently for Baldivan to look.  
The kaldorei lowered his hands and took in the sight. They were in a massive field of gold and crimson flowers and grasses as high as his elbows if he stood. Playful, light clouds stretched high above in the white-blue sky, the suns rays caressing their shapes as they drifted slowly. Baldivan was awestruck as he marveled his surroundings. When his gaze fell upon the massive tree in the distance, he rose to his feet. The tree towered above everything else, even over mountains as its branches unfurled and danced in the gentle breeze. Flaatom stood next to Baldivan, sharing his thought that this place was perfect for playing.

A cluster of wisps chimed in their ears. One by one, or in sets of two or three, what must have been hundreds of wisps pushed through the grasses and flowers, as if trying to stay in the filtered shade of the flora. The wisps didn't seem in any hurry, nor was there any rhyme or reason to their movements, none that the kaldorei and his demon could discern.  
Loud purring and hollow rumbling found them. Baldivan and Flaatom turned, their eyes meeting a large and wild looking feline. She rolled onto her back, front paws in the air as she swiped playfully at passing wisps. Some of them lingered, their gentle glow illuminating parts of her body in luminescent hues of soft blue. She didn't notice them at first, too caught up in playing to pay much attention to anything else.  
"Sisa," Flaatom gurgled, his guttural voice almost made the word unrecognizable. The cat immediately ceased her play and stared straight at the two as if they didn't belong there. Baldivan stared back, "Elyowynn."  
She rolled to her feet and stood on all four paws. As Baldivan gawked at seeing her without vines for back legs, she rumbled, "I should know you."

Flaatom yipped happily and trotted forward, "Sisa! Sisa!" Elywynn's playful demeanor had not left. She pounced Flaatom, sending them both rolling over the ground in a mess of large cat and felhound. A sense of joy and peace washed over Baldivan as he watched the two play-fight, feeling at ease. He couldn't quite tell why, but with Teldrassil looming in the horizon, he didn't want to know. For the first time in a very long while, all his worries had melted away and vanished.  
After a few rounds of rough play, Elyowynn and Flaatom lay in a pile. She won again, giving Baldivan a smug look as her front half lay over Flaatom's thick, coarse mane. Baldivan joined them, sitting down where his legs were next to Flaatom's head and with his back to Elyowynn's rear half. Flaatom laid his head on Baldivan's lap as Elyowynn made herself more comfortable, using Flaatom as a pillow.

Baldivan gazed up at Teldrassil as he idly stroked Flaatom's head. This place, this vision or dream, felt alive, teaming with life that had a heartbeat of its own. No, Baldivan thought, not quite its own. It felt as if it was something that happened before, as if it was a cherished memory.  
The cries of a small herd of elk alerted the trio to the herd. Elyowynn was up immediately, crouched low as the pupils in her eyes widened. She nudged Baldivan's back, urging him to his knees. He could feel her excitement, could feel her heart race with anticipation. Baldivan shoved the part of his mind that wondered how he could feel what she felt to the back of his mind as he shifted.  
Flaatom stayed low as his master threw one leg over his back. The felhound had heard them, too, and the same desire to hunt radiated from the demon. Elyowynn took the lead, through the grasses, like a missile. Flaatom had trouble keeping up with her, and even when Baldivan linked his mind to his demon, keeping up with the wild druidess was only slightly easier. Flaatom's vision filled Baldivan's mind, giving them both the visual senses they had been used to for several years. The worry of losing his eyes again seemed distant as they hunted the elk.

Baldivan and Flaatom's hearts raced as one, and with Elyowynn nearby, they could sense hers pounding with theirs. For while they hunted, they were one. They were siblings, tracking down prey to eat. Nothing would stop them, for together, they felt they could take down a mammoth. Finally, they tracked the herd to a pond. As the elk and its small harem took turns drinking, the trio watched. Baldivan slipped off Flaatom to get lower to the ground as the demon and Elyowynn crouched low at the edge of the tall grass.  
Elyowynn sniffed and huffed, the silent signal that Flaatom and Baldivan should flank the herd from each side while she waited to ambush one of them. Neither questioned how they knew what she wanted, the hunt and the kill were far more important, and they carried out her plan. At least, that was the intention.

Baldivan inched up to where the grass ended and peered down at the herd again. He felt Flaatom in position as well, waiting anxiously for Elyowynn's desire to begin. They felt her spurred them both with the urge to hunt, to kill, and to feast over their soon-to-be victory. Like a well oiled machine, Flaatom and Baldivan descended upong the herd. Almost immediately, they saw the two closing in from their sides, and they darted towards Elyowynn's hiding place. She leapt out at the last moment, scaring them into splitting up, but the last doe instead halted, rearing up on her hind legs to lash out with her hooves. The hooves missed by a huge margin, and once she stopped striking out to regain her footing, Elyowynn leapt to her throat.  
Flaatom barked and yipped as he surged towards the hapless doe in the felines jaws, leaping at her to throw her off balance and slamming her into the ground. Elyowynn hadn't lost the grip with her fangs, moving as the doe fell to keep the pressure on the throat. As the doe was suffocated, a figure caught Baldivan's attention. Standing on the water was a young kaldorei, maybe around eight or ten, staring straight at Baldivan. The figure was hauntingly familiar, somebody he should know, though from when or where he could not place. The figure lurched forward, running at full speed across the lake, though the water remained untouched.

The moment the figure hit shore, he leapt at Baldivan, smiling joyfully as if finding a long-lost friend for the first time. The child radiated so much happy, it felt overwhelming as he hugged Baldivan, the larger kaldorei dropping to his knees to return the hug. "I missed you," the child said. The words were inaudible, Baldivan realized he felt them, not heard them.  
"Wh-who are you?" Baldivan broke from the hug to get a better look at the child, eyes going wide as he stared in disbelief. The child changed to someone else, someone he met not long ago, a child that called him a hero on the streets of Stormwind.  
"You know me, Patroller Van," Jam'voree told him. His words were not felt this time, but heard. "You're a guard in Stormwind and you signed my book, remember?"  
"I am...?"

Jam'voree's form shifted, returning to the child that had been standing on the lake before reaching the shore, a child that looked a couple years younger, "You know me, father."  
A splitting headache wracked his mind as everything vanished around him. Darkness overtook him as formless memories surrounded him, teasing his mind with flashes of seemingly random glimpses of people, interior rooms, moonwells, magical workings and massive trees stretching their enormous branches above.

With a scream, he finally woke to a thin cot on a cool, hard floor, finding himself curled up in a fetal position with his hands on the sides of his face. He whimpered as he felt Flaatom's presence nudge his thoughts with worry and concern. The demon whined softly, opening his thoughts to his master, sharing the memory of the vivid dream they had.  
Finally, Baldivan relaxed onto his cot, allowing Flaatom to flood his thoughts for a while. The dream replayed in their mind, but when the child showed up in his memory, Baldivan tried to shove it away. It wouldn't leave his mind, like a thorn that refused to be removed.  
The child, not the one he met in Stormwind, the child that was on the water before turning into Jam'voree, the child that called him "father." His face stuck in Baldivan's mind, refusing to be smudged by the morning waking when dreams usually became forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4: The River Blooming

**Author's Note: **This chapter will focus more on my "second"/"other" main (shoot me, please).

* * *

Baldivan pulled his small pillow from his satchel and dropped it at the head of his bed before hanging his satchel on the headboard. His bed at the bunkhouse was the top of a bunkbed, and though it was far from luxurious, it was at least a place he could rest his head at night. Most of the beds were already occupied by the kaldorei and gilneans that were assigned to them, snoozing away for the night.  
Before laying back, Baldivan slid off his bed and dropped to the ground to stare at the empty bed below his. A bad feeling clenched his gut, Dalden usually was there before him, curled up with his little service pug that guided him around Stormwind. The blind kaldorei was out in the city somewhere, and Baldivan had a feeling he might need some help.

Without another thought, Baldivan left the bunkhouse and ran back into the dwarven district. His eyes flickered as his spectral sight kicked on and he slowed his pace as he looked around. Mostly dwarves and gnomes in this part of the city. Lots of humans, though not quite as many as the shorter races. Baldivan detected the shapes of a few draenei and kaldorei, though they were far and few between.  
Near the western exit to the canals, Baldivan stopped and inhaled slowly. The district's trademark smells of metal and forges still permeated heavily in the air. Baldivan knew it would take too long to run around the city on foot to search for Dalden. He would need a much faster way to locate the other kaldorei.  
As he thought on it, Baldivan walked to the canal and took another deep breath in, slowly exhaling. Angry shouting alerted Baldivan, and he looked across the canal, towards the gazebo, "How dare you touch me!" A large human man angrily shouted expletives at a seeming hapless Dalden. The little, wrinkly faced dog huffed and barked angrily back a few times before getting plucked off the ground and held in Dalden's arms. The pug barked a couple more times until Dalden laid a hand on the dog's head.

The pug's barking seemed to only set off the human even more. As Baldivan hurried to the scene, the human verbally raged the things he would do to the dog if he got bit. All this time, Dalden had tried to back away slowly, daring a few steps away. The anger emanating off the human overwhelmed what little his senses could perceive.  
"Excuse me, what's going on here," Baldivan asked when he finally caught up to the scene.  
The angry human reeked of alcohol and seemed of older age to what Baldivan could tell, glared at Baldivan, "Oh, great, another damned elf." He wrapped one hand around the hilt of the rapier at his waist, "You dirty knife-ears need to find someplace else to waste space."  
"Sir, you're obviously very upset," Baldivan tried to reassure the human as he held one of Dalden's arms, the blind elf's arm felt tense. His other hand had gone to one of his own blades.  
"No! That filthy elf touched me! He needs his hand cut off so he wont be so damn callous about bumping into someone again!"

The angry, drunk man pulled his rapier from his belt, and with a roar, lunged at the two. As the rapier was being pulled out, Baldivan pulled his own blade from his belt, and with the flat of the blade against his arm, blocked the sloppy strike. With his other hand on Dalden, he shoved the thinner elf holding his dog against the Cathedral's wall.  
The human struck a few more times, his rapier slapping against the flat of Baldivan's blade. The last strike was slapped away, giving Baldivan a wide opening for a counter. He took it, opting to knock the human back a few feet. The human reeled and doubled over to vomit partially digested alcohol.  
"Please leave," Baldivan sighed. "You're only going to embarrass yourself. And you'ire drunk."  
The human finally collected himself and growled as he left, "Damned elves. Damn you all."

Baldivan returned his blade to his belt and turned to Dalden. The blind kaldorei sat against the wall, cradling his dog as both trembled. The little dog in Dalden's arms whimpered, giving the demon hunter a terrified look. Baldivan stepped closer and knelt, placing a hand on the other kaldorei's shoulder, "You're safe now, Dalden. He's gone."  
Dalden gulped and faced where he thought Baldivan's voice had come from, his perception not quite catching up to real-time. "G-gruncle? Thank you. Thank you so much."  
"Let's get you back to the bunkhouse," Baldivan said. "I'm heading that way anyways."  
Dalden hesitated as he glanced around fearfully. He faced Baldivan and nodded quickly, "Yes, I think that's very a good idea."

Dalden was soon asleep after his head hit his pillow and Baldivan pulled his covers over him, "Good night, nephew." Baldivan patted the younger kaldorei on the shoulder before hopping up to his bed and relaxing. The younger kaldorei, however, began to toss and turn as a dream tormented him.  
It began a peaceful day, an uneventful one for Dalden. He kept himself busy in the Temple's garden all morning, broke for his mid-day meal, and spent most of the afternoon working with the tailors that made or mended the robes for the Priestesses of the Moon. Most of the city slept during the day, to Dalden's relief. He usually preferred it that way, not as many to bother him while he worked, and he could get more one-on-one time with the tailor that overlooked the day-time work to improve his skills.

But, that night rattled Dalden to the core, it rattled the entirety of the kaldorei society. Teldrassil was hit by fiery boulders launched from Darkshore, magically enhanced to fly the great distance to the great tree. Panic and chaos ensued as flames encroached the city. Though the efforts to quell the fires was swiftly started, it was still in vain. The fires consumed far faster than they could be put out.  
While Dalden ran through the streets, towards the Temple, he hastily glanced around for any faces he recognized in the coalescing smoke. There were so many people that ran to the Temple, Dalden couldn't find anyone he knew among the panicked expressions of fear and horror. Before he could reach the temple, however, a branch creaked and moaned overhead, and fell on top of Dalden. A pair of strong arms dragged him the rest of the way, imploring Dalden to hang on before speaking Darnassian prayers to heal him.

Dalden jerked awake, rising to sit up, but hit his head on the bottom of Baldivan's bed. Baldivan woke up with the sudden smack to his bed and leaned over the side of it to look at Dalden, "You ok, Nephew?" Baldivan gazed at him, concerned as Dalden rubbed his forehead.

"Y-yes, I'm sorry. I'm fine," Dalden stammered his reply. "Just a bad dream, gruncle."  
"Alright," Baldivan sighed before righting himself and sliding out of bed. "It's time for me to get up anyways. You take care of yourself, you hear?"  
"I will, gruncle." Dalden heard Baldivan stuff his pillow into his satchel and walk away with a farewell.  
Puggles looked up at Dalden from his spot at the foot of the bed and whined. "Alright, Puggles, I'm sure you have to relieve yourself. Get up." Puggles barked and hopped down to the floor. The pug turned back to Dalden and waited patiently for him to swing his legs over and fumble for the leash. It didn't take long to pull it from under the blanket, hook one end to Puggles' harness and tie the other firmly to his own belt.  
Dalden rose to his feet and clicked his tongue, "Outside." Puggles lead the way with a bark. Dalden sighed in relief as he felt the early morning sun on his skin. Today, he felt, would be a good day.

The weeks dragged by, with only a few more nights of the same nightmare. It always rattled him, and one morning it took Baldivan an hour to calm him down after the horrible memory replayed in his sleep. When the Banshee Cough outbreak began, Dalden was hit hard. To his relief, Baldivan had taken Puggles while he was sick.  
Eventually, he was moved with others to be quarantined outside the city. A dwarf woman with freckles and almond skin tone had carried him there, insisting that the city guards would have been pretty rough with the already thinned kaldorei.

"We've met before," Dalden croaked his question.  
"Yes we have," her accent bordered Wildhammer. "The name's Skadala. I brought you to the garrison near the border to Westfall." Dalden groaned and patted around his bed for the goggles he was borrowing. Skadala found them before he could and slid them over his head, "Here you go. A few adjustments and… there."  
"Th-thank you," Dalden slowly looked around, relieved as the room came into better view.  
"It's good, lad," Skadala smiled. Her smile faded to a serious look, "We have an experimental cure that's ready, if you're still willing to try it."  
Dalden nodded firmly, "I am. If it helps the research, I'll try it."

With a nod, Skadala leaves his bedside and moves to her desk. She pulls a vial filled with liquid swirling with blue, gold and a few streaks of white. The next thing that came from her desk was a needle and syringe. When she returned to Dalden, she warned, "It'll hurt, but it should work."  
Dalden nodded, and with a sigh, leaned back against the headboard.  
Skadala drew the liquid into the syringe before swabbing Dalden's arm with a sanitizing pad. Dalden winced when the needle punctured his arm and relaxed again. It worked fast once it was all injected. Dalden began glowing, azerite swirls tracing over his skin as he started to cough and heave. He felt his body rejecting the infection, felt it forcing it out, and he was horrified that he would asphyxiate before be could expel it.  
Skadala pat his back firmly, "Let it out, Dalden." She sucked in a breath as Dalden hacked up an angry, festering and congealed blob of the infection.  
"Oh, Elune," Dalden croaked hoarsely. "Wh-what is that?"

"The infection, it would seem," Skadala wrapped it up in a towel, taking care to not touch it, and places it in a jar. After she cleaned the stain on the sheet, she scanned Dalden's lungs and frowned, "You still have some in you, but it's as if your infection is in early stage one."  
"I do feel so much better," Dalden nodded, "but, also still not well." He leaned over and pulled her into a hug, "Thank you."  
"Don't thank me just yet. You're not out of the mineshaft yet."  
Dalden chuckled at Skadala's words before coughing a few times. He silently swore he felt remnants of the infection lingering in his lungs, squirming like live worms.

The next morning, Dalden stirred and rose from his bed, swinging his legs over the side of his bed before patting the bed searchingly. Skadala was at his side soon, helping Dalden put his goggles on and sighed, "I've still not got those eyes made for you yet. The ones that can better focus your chi."  
"The sick are more important," Dalden gave her a reassuring smile and nod. "Worry about me after we've helped them."  
Skadala patted his arm and squeezed lightly, "I'm just glad you're feeling a lot better."  
Dalden held a hand over hers on his arm and squeezed, "I do appreciate everything you've done for me. I would be dead if it wasn't for you and your associates."  
"We stick together, and you're one of us," Skadala smiled softly at him.

Dalden began wheezing, causing Skadala to give him a concerned look. As she scanned his lungs, the kaldorei started coughing as hard as he did after taking the experimental cure. To his relief, the spell wasn't nearly as long, and he coughed up more of the infection. Skadala eyed him in awe, "Well, it would appear your body has expelled the last of that infection. You're free to go through the decontamination process and return to the hospital in Stormwind."  
With a shake of his head, Dalden groaned, "N-no, I… want to help you here."  
Skadala's smile brightens as she nods, "Food first, then we can have you put together the mixture for the cure I put in you yesterday."

A plate of pandaren stir fry was placed on the table once Dalden had moved to a chair. "This looks delicious." He hungrily ate as Skadala sat up a second desk with supplies.  
"Here you go," Skadala said as she helped him to the desk chair. "Instructions are right here and there's enough supplies to make plenty of that serum."  
Dalden worked for most of the day, grinding herbs and stripping leaves off steams and placing them in bottles. He would never remember just how many he made, but he would believe it would be more than he would ever have to make.

Dalden looked up once he finished the final vial and watched Skadala. She was tending one patients as they groaned, "There, there, you'll make it. Don't you worry." The patient finally relaxed back to sleep as Skadala wiped blood from their lips. She noticed Dalden watching and smiled at him, "You were as bad, worse than this I think. I feared you would be dead soon, but it seems you're too stubborn to die." She looked at Dalden, a heavy relief in her expression.  
"I'm glad to be alive, but don't underestimate yourself," Dalden smiled warmly. "You're a wonderful nurse."  
Skadala blushed and moved to Dalden's side, placing her hand on his forehead, "Your temp still seems normal. Breathing also normal. No wheezing." Without thinking, she lowered her bandana used as a mask and placed a kiss on his head. She stepped back, blushing harder as Dalden registered what had just happened.


	5. Chapter 5: Brothers Bound

Kaelan Stormglaive peered over the ramparts, carefully inspecting the horizon and the lone mountain that thrust into the sky. Liquified fel oozed from its cracks like evil lava, occasionally spewing a blast of the materialized evil magic. It was notoriously and aptly named the Hand of Gul'dan, after the orc warlock whom had a hand in betraying his own people to the Burning Legion.  
"Sir?" The Illidari initiate turned to Kaelan, "What are we looking for?"  
"A felhound," Kaelan's voice, once smooth and deep had taken on a more demonic tone, was lowered. He kept his pensive sights beyond the walls of the Black Temple, as far as he could sense, for the prey he desired. Kaelan could only detect the demons loyal to the Illidari, the disappointment in his own inability to stretch his sight further caused him to frown.  
"I see none with my eyes, sir," the initiate finally said. Kaelan looked down at the shorter elf and nodded slowly, knowing the elf wouldn't have been able to see the world as he did, that the initiate couldn't see the world as intimately as he could, at least not yet. Magic swirled in Kaelan's 'sight,' and his brain was forced to remap how his vision worked with the new sensory input.

Baldivan's day was fast approaching to become a Demon Hunter. He had trained as hard as he could, pushed himself beyond his own limits, and further. Some days, he fought and bled during training, until he passed out from bloodloss. Other days, he fought mental battles for hours until he passed out from pure exhaustion. Most days, he trained under Kaelan Stormglaive, with a handful of other initiates. Always, it seemed, Baldivan lacked the strength and fortitude to become a Demon Hunter.  
"Remeber these words well, initiates," Kaelan often growled. "The Legion will stop at nothing to destroy our world. We will sacrifice everything to save it. For that is what makes us different from them." With a motion of his hand, he dismissed the initiates and turned his felfire eyes to Baldivan, "Except you, Baldivan."  
Baldivan stepped closer to his mentor, lofting a quizzical brow.  
"You have been improving lately," Kaelan nodded sternly. "And I am certain you've heard the news trickling in. The naga have lost their hold in Zangarmarsh and there are... 'adventurers' reclaiming much of our holds throughout Outland. Lord Illidan has noticed your progress and thinks you are ready."  
Baldivan swallowed dryly with Kaelan's words, knowing his ritual is soon. He nods firmly, "I am ready."  
"Baldivan," Kaelan said, staring hard at the initiate. "You are my most promising pupil and I know you won't let me down, nor Lord Illidan. We will be heading out and finding you a felhound to kill. Get your last practice in before the real thing."  
"Stormglaive? Why a felhound?"  
"You will see for yourself in your ritual."

Kaelan lead Baldivan through Shadowmoon Valley, though Kaelan spent much of the time flying above on his leathery, bat-like wings. He kept his sight focused, continuously peering around for any felhound he could find while Baldivan jogged below to keep himself ready. A doomguard and a pack of five felhounds soon came to Kaelan's view, and he pumped his wings to gain altitude. He focused on the doomguard and adjusted his wings, going in for a silent, swift and deadly aerial strike as the demons soon picked up on Baldivan's presence.  
The felhounds snapped and snarled at the approaching kaldorei on the ground, the doomguard's attention being drawn to the lone jogger. It was long enough that Kaelan cleaved the doomguard in two with one of his warglaives. The forked blades jutting from both ends of the hilt and guard flashed eagerly as the demon's blood fed the orbs close to the hilt, sucking the magic from the demon like a hungry wolf devouring its first meal in a week. The doomguard's roar contorted as its magics were devoured and it died.  
The felhounds quickly turned on Kaelan, leaping at the winged kaldorei to feast on his flesh. In a few swift flurries, four felhounds lay gored and sucked dry, the fel seeping into Kaelan and the orbs through his blades. The fifth was smashed with the hand guard, stunned and left laying on the ground. As Kaelan leapt into the air to watch from the sky, Baldivan came in, his initiate warglaives in his hands, and used the hand guard to smack the felhound's head.  
The felhound lunged at Baldivan, its gaping maw surging forward to his head. Baldivan reacted, adrenaline fueled, he ducked and rolled under the leaping felhound. The split second his feet hit the ground, he turned with one warglaive raised to lash out at the demon. The felhound had pivoted on its hoof-like feet and lunged again, snapping its jaws over the blade of one warglaive. Instinctively, Baldivan whirled his other warglaive around and gutted the felhound. The demon groaned and fell, joining the other slain felbeasts and their handler.  
"You did well," Kaelan praised Baldivan as he landed. "Far better than your first fight."  
"I was... far weaker then," Baldivan nodded. "I had only my magic to defend myself. Now, I have far more than that."  
"Magic alone was your weakness," Kaelan said. He often pointed it out. "As talented as you are with it, it acts like a beacon to felhounds and most demons. They are drawn to it like maggots to a corpse."  
"Sir," Baldivan bowed slightly, "I have fought and slain this one felhound. Is that all you wanted me to do? Surely I could have handled more than one."  
"After your ritual, you will have plenty of opportunities to prove yourself," Kaelan reassured him. "Until then, we would rather you alive."

Baldivan's ritual began a few days later. Illidan oversaw it as Kaelan performed his pupil's ritual. "Fight like your very existence depends on it," Kaelan told Baldivan as he sealed him in the ring where the battle between elf and demon would take place. "Because it does."  
A black felhound summoned forth inside the ring and snarled in surprise. Baldivan knew this fight, knew how felhounds fought, knew their mane and magic suckers were tougher than they looked. Their underbellies weren't quite as tough, but getting under them had usually been the hard part. This felhound was no different. It kept a defensive posture, keeping its belly low to the ground as it lashed out with its magic suckers and kept its horns turned on Baldivan. It finally made the mistake of jumping, allowing Baldivan to roll low and lash out with a warglaive.  
"Good," Kaelan smiled haggardly. He dropped the wall around the ring and approached the initiate. "It gets harder." Kaelan used one of Baldivan's warglaives to cut open the felhound. He shoved a hand into the slain demon and yanked out its heart. It still beat angrily as Kaelan handed it to Baldivan, "Eat." Baldivan nodded and bit into the tough flesh. The acrid meat went down, burning as if hotter than lava and like hard rubber.  
"Drink its blood," Kaelan pointed to the blood oozing from the cut. Baldivan cupped his hands and collected some of the blood. He lift his hands to his mouth and drank, the feeling of lava fresh in his throat, as if it was about to burn through his body.  
Illidan beat his wings and landed nearby, casting a spell a split second before Baldivan passed out.

Baldivan sucked in a breath when he saw the village in Ashenvale. It was as he remembered it, surrounded by dense forest and a path that lead to a river nearby, the buildings made to meld with the backdrop of the large trees. Tranquil and peaceful were but a humble way of describing the lazy village.  
But, he knew something was wrong, he knew this wasn't real, this village was destroyed by the Legion during the War of the Ancients. Screams erupted from one end of the village as green fires sprung to life everywhere. Baldivan saw his wife, dragging their son and two daughters with her, as they fled into the forest. He knew this moment far too well. It was the day the Legion came and burned much of the forest.  
Steeling his heart, Baldivan faced the same demons that burned his home, that drove his own family to hate him, that he would be paraded as a traitor to his own people. Knowing the demons would love to feast on his magics, he conjured up his arcane powers and shot a bolt at the first demon he saw, a black felhound.  
"Anything," Baldivan thought, "anything to give my family and friends time to escape. I will kill as many as I can."

The felhound surged forward, seeming to have absorbed the magical attack. It stayed low as it moved, maw opening at the last second to snap shut at Baldivan. The initiate leapt and twisted, grabbing one of the magic suckers in one hand and a horn with the other. With the kaldorei on its back, the felhound flailed and thrashed, trying to shake its rider. Baldivan finally flew off its back, landing hard against the ground. He used the momentum to rise to his feet and pull his warglaives from his back, "Have at me again, demon!"  
They charged each other, the felhound's speed surprising Baldivan. He lashed out at its face and magic suckers, causing the demon to recoil and turn away. It lashed its tail at Baldivan, though too slowly. Baldivan leapt over the tail and thrust a blade into the felhound from behind. It roared and fell, defeated.  
The village blurred around him for a moment before it seemed to rise from the ashes of a moment before. Kaelan was there this time, watching Baldivan with pride glowing in his silver eyes. Kaelan turned and leapt at a doomguard, lashing out at it with his warglaives, Rigor and Mortis. Baldivan heard Kaelan's voice, "I was there, watching you fight them with everything you had before you were knocked out and I stole you away."  
The encouragement spurned Baldivan to fighting harder. The black felhound fell several more times before it finally stayed dead, and Baldivan could feel himself become stronger. Eventually, the scene finally stopped replaying, and the world around Baldivan blurred beyond recognition. He found himself in another world, foreign to his senses and mind as he stared at the geography in awe. In a flash, it burst into fel flames, consuming the world until it was but a husk. What felt like a million more planets and an incomprehensible amount of life flashed before his eyes, all being consumed by felfire. It numbed Baldivan's mind, until he just wanted to shove it all away and never have to think again. He wanted it to stop, and in his insanity, pulled out his own eyes in the waking world before flopping back down onto the cold, hard cot he was placed on.

When Baldivan finally regained consciousness, he heard Kaelan's voice again, though he wasn't sure if it was a dream or reality, "You fought with everything you had, and you still do. You were beaten down, but you kept getting back up. I am proud to consider you brother and I will always look up to you."  
Baldivan rolled his head to one side as what he thought looked like veins of light pulsing around him. He saw a cluster of the veins, and felt a hand, upon his arm before a large, pulsing form rose and moved away. It was hours later before he finally realized what he saw was the magics flowing through everyone and everything. His brain had begun mapping out what was what, what was a solid and inanimate object and what were other people.  
Finally, Illidan and Kaelan approached him. Kaelan spoke first, "You have earned your wards, brother. Though, we had best hurry..." There seemed a dire edge to his tone.  
After Baldivan's wards had been placed, he breathed heavily as he raised from the table. The pain from them felt worse than ingesting the heart and blood of the felhound, but he could feel his mind calming. He could control the felhound inside more easily.  
"Rest today, brother," Kaelan spoke sternly. "Tomorrow begins the real training."


	6. Chapter 6: Do or Die

**Author's Note:** This chapter relied heavily upon a Role-Play session and some parts (a lot of parts) have been take from that RP. You may read some parts that may align more towards Raszagal's writing style. However, it has been read over and adjusted to help the flow of the chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Baldivan stepped up to the office door at Command. He raised a clenched hand and hesitated. It had been as much trying as it was rewarding since he joined the city guard. He had given as much as he got, had been hurt pretty badly on a few occasions, but nothing he couldn't bounce back from. Even a recent confrontation had taken half of a horn, left deep burns and stripped much of his wards from his body. Thanks to the brothers and sisters of the Illidari within the guard, his wards were replaced, and the efforts of the medics, his burns were healed. Though, his horn would need time to regrow.  
He knocked a split second before he silently chastised himself. He didn't need to knock on the door of an Illidari, their sight would see them approach. Knight Raszagal Findale is no exception. Her voice rasped callously, "You know full well how unnecessary a knock upon the door is to an office of an illidari, Glaivereaver. Enter. Close the door behind you."  
Baldivan grunted grumpily, entered and did as he was told, shutting the door behind him. His uniform, the armor all the guardsmen and guardswomen wore, creaked quietly with his motions. "Ma'am, I'd like to inquire abhout furthering my training as a demon hunter." He stood relaxed, "Is it possible to begin soon?"  
"Do you inquire, or are you asking to forward your training to a time more present?" Raszagal did not raise her head to look at him, she continued to read over a folder belonging to a different illidari in the guard.  
Baldivan's tail curled and relaxed to its mindless wag as he tensed his eye sockets, wondering if he understood the question correctly. Common wasn't his first or even second language and was still very new to his mind. "Both, ma'am, though I'd like for it to be moved to a time more present."  
"Quite impeccable timing, all this considered," Raszagal said. "I happen to have the time and have only just finished reviewing both yours and the other's files." The Knight closed the folder and returned it to the drawer at the side of her desk, locking it with a combination of sigils and wards she had set herself. She then rose from her seat and retrieved her mask and glaives that hung on the wall behind her. "So be it, then, let us start the first lesson. Accompany me to the mage tower. There, we will ask for a portal to Dalaran, and we will return to our old order hall."  
Baldivan nodded sternly, "Yes, ma'am. I will go change out of this uniform." After a quick, slight bow, he left the office and went down to the locker room.

In his usual dark pants, boots, thick belt with a green buckle and a new shirt, Baldivan headed outside. His swords hung at each hip as he rested his palms on the hilts. Raszagal arrived some few minutes later, having changed from her uniform and was now richly garbed as an illidari. Metal hooks arched from her shoulders and hips, her forearms were protected in sharp serrated metal guards. Regardless of the dark, sharp and perhaps slightly revealing midrift and chest, her hair was almost always tied behind her. "Let us not dawdle. Follow suit, brother illidari." She gestured ahead, to the stone arch as she continued her long, powerful and confident strides.  
As they traversed the streets to the mage tower, Baldivan kept toying with the hilt of one blade. He tensed his eye sockets again, "I rather hate I never had proper training. With the Legion's final invasion, there never seemed adequate time to find anyone for it. Seemed even my former mentor had fallen in battle."  
"If he fell in battle to the Legion, then he was not suited to train you," Raszagal said with a callous hiss, not even glancing to him as she spoke. "Had you received his training, you either would have died much like him from his terrible advice, or you perhaps would be just a bit more well off than you are now. Regardless, be thankful you were not 'tampered' with so as to make his same mistakes." Her naturally harsh and rasping voice made such words sound distasteful or even disrespectful, despite it not being her intent.  
Baldivan frowned as their feet met cobblestone, then the grass of the mage's quarter, then another stone path, "Kaelan was a brutal fighter. I witnessed him facing a pair of doomlords by himself for a while before a few more illidari joined him. I didn't see the end of the fight, but maybe if he had his warglaives, he would have won." He glanced down at the sword on his right hip. Though he missed having proper warglaives, he was glad they had broken, and been remade as swords.  
"It would seem he did not heed his own master's words," she flicked her felfire gaze from beneath her bladed mask to Baldivan, "Lord Illidan had said it so much, I need hardly to remind you what the phrase was."

As they continued their conversation, Raszagal strode through a portal with Baldivan close behind, "Perhaps he could have survived, yet we illidari do not deal in 'ifs' or the 'past.' Leave that to the chronomancers of the shal'dorei and the dragons of the bronze flight."  
"Hard not to imagine sometimes. I wasn't prepared for the temple to be overrun so soon after completing the ritual. But, Lord Illidan thought I was prepared-" Baldivan inhaled deeply through his nose. The smell of burning brimstone, of fel, still permeated the air. "The fel will linger for generations..."  
"It will. The damage degree of corruption upon the isles is incomparable to anything. Except, perhaps Argus. We are lucky our world was not tarnished everywhere such as that planet." She lead Baldivan to the precipice of the floating island of Dalaran, bringing a smaller floating island into view. A shivarran gateway awaited them, with another illidari and a shivarra near it, waiting for any illidari that may wish to return to the old order hall.  
Raszagal leapt from the edge, causing more of the floating city to crumble beneath the force as she soard across the gap. Wings exploded from her back, but only to correct her trajectory and balance herself as she landed on the other side with a crash beneath her feet. She turned and faced Baldivan, as if asking if he even had the ability to make it across the chasm. The test had begun, no matter how belittling it might seem at surface level.  
Baldivan watched her leap off the edge and glide down to the island. He stared back at her, as if accusing her of showing off. After a brief moment, he turned and walked back over the platform and tensed his muscles. He grumpily growled, flexed and bolted for the edge. With a vicious snarl, he leapt into the air, over the chasm, and landed with a roll to disperse the impact. As he rose, he grunted, "I'd swear that jump gets longer every time."  
"Then you need practice," Raszagal said and moved to the gate. It was opened before she got there, allowing both illidari to enter without question.

The two illidari entered the practice platform at the bottom of the floating ship. Others practiced there, caught up in their own duels, too focused to afford anything else even a split second of attention. Raszagal and Baldivan found an area for the purpose of Baldivan's training. "We will start you off with a stress test. One –all- illidari must endure through." She motioned for one of the towering shivarra to join them. The mistress of anguish loomed over them and spoke in a honey suckled tone, "What will be my pleasure?" Raszagal gestured coldly to Baldivan, "A test of wills. You will aid me in ensuring the safety of this test. You know the rules if he should break."  
The towering mistress bowed deeply with a delightfully subtle smile as Raszagal moved to stand directly in front of Baldivan. "This will be a stress test of your mind. We are going to purposefully break your wards to the point they nearly fail, let the demon battle with your own will at its near peak strength. Our duty is to keep you from fully succumbing. As with each passing moment you draw closer to giving in, we will seep power into your wards incrementally to weaken the demon's might. Your will and strength will weaken together. To us, it is a simple task. To you, it will be much, -much- different." The shivarra positioned behind Baldivan, all six of her arms arching over him as if set to suddenly grab him as Raszagal continued, "Do you wish to proceed? Or do you wish to walk away, Glaivereaver."

Baldivan inhales and holds a breath for a moment. He pulls his mind inward to feel the demon inside. It wanted freedom, it wanted to feast on magic, on flesh, it wanted to break Baldivan and devour. He exhales and nods, "I am ready." With a frown, "Anything to protect my family, and end as many demons as I can."  
"You may feel differently about that after this," Raszagals' face was placid, cold, uncaring in expression. "What you are about to experience is a likeness of being torn to the ground and mauled on a spiritual level, or your head thrown underwater though no matter how close you get, we will pull you just barely enough to keep you from drowning. Do you understand what I am saying, brother illidari? I hope you do, this may be the most unpleasant experience you have –yet- to physically feel. And not to worry, I have informed Mistress Anguisheira here of your demon's abilities beforehand. Your demon will not be a problem.. To us."  
With that, Raszagal's hands flashed a bright yellow light. Beneath Baldivan, golden chains erupted from the sigil beneath his feet. The chains wrapped and burned around his legs, torso, arms and neck, violently pulling him down to kneel. Baldivan resisted at first out of instinct, growling as he pulled against the chains and the chains burned his skin. "I will not fail, I –cannot- fail. I will do or die and I intend on living." He snarled and took in a sharp breath, "Do it. Kill me if you have to. Do it!" He pushed against the chains, wrapping a section around his hands as he braced himself for the mental fight of his life. Do or die, he was determined to raise as much hell as he could to exist.  
Raszagal twisted her hands, and with the motion, the binds would constrict to collapse his arms to his body, "And we will, Glaivereaver." She kept her hands focused on keeping the sigil empowered as she flicked her head towards the shivarra behind him. The Mistress of Anguish's subtle smile turned to a much more cruel grin as she leaned over the restrained illidari. In a chanting, succulent toned demonic, she pulled the power from Baldivan's wards in a not so restrained manner. The demoness then pinched her fingers and held a tiny tether to the man's wards in each of her hands, the last strands of his defenses at her mercy.

Baldivan let out a contorted, demonic scream as Flaatom surfaced. Flaatom was eager, and the split second it detected the wards waned, it surged with renewed vigor. Baldivan fought the demon down, its urges, its all-consuming urges to devour magic, to devour it all. Flaatom growled and roared in delight at the prospect of finally being in control, it pushed and shoved against Baldivan's mind, nearly overwhelming him in the first few seconds of the wards' power dropping.  
_No!_ Van screamed in his mind as he struggled. _You will... NEVER...  
_Flaatom mentally bit and snapped back, his face contorting and snapping his jaws as Flaatom did so in their mind. Baldivan slowly got the upper hand on the demon, though barely. He muscled with Flaatom, lost some ground, regained some control. It seemed a near even match, neither seemed to be able to gain control for more than a moment before the other muscled their way back.  
Raszagal and the Mistress observed, the shivarra more insightfully, however. She pulled lightly at one of the tethers, giving the demon within Baldivan more of the advantage as she strained the small remnants of his defenses thinner with a wicked grin on her face. Raszagal, however, remained placid in expression, always about duty first. She focused on keeping Baldivan restrained. The noise he made caused other illidari to divert their attention. They had not seen a test such as this since the black temple, after all. Many sneered at the very implication of what this test meant, others scoffed at recognizing the poor man, others watched in genuine concern if he would make it. Soo enough, they had an audience.  
Flaatom felt the shift in the subtle cue of his advantage and pressed the offensive. Van felt himself slipping, on the edge of a sharp knife and about to get thrown off. Sweat dripped down his face as he fought harder, fought harder than he thought he could, in desperation to stay afloat, to stay balanced upon the dagger that he feared he'd fall from at the slightest motion. He pushed back against Flaatom, conjuring a mental warglaive that resembled his real-world swords, and used it to fight back. He was slowly gaining control again, a desperate, hoarse yell escaping through his teeth as his arms strained against the chains.

"More fight than he gives himself credit," Raszagal hummed. "Weaken him further."  
Mistress Anguisheira pulled not one, but two more tethers taught, giving Flaatom a boost much more to his favor. Some of the elves nearby applauded that he had gotten this far, others snickered or hissed in whispers of bets to see just hos much further he could take it. Others knew full well that the shivarra was playing easy, 'toying' if you will, with her plaything.  
The harder Flaatom fought, the harder Baldivan responded. Soon, he had a pair of warglaives, and danced in the mental battle of wit and fortitude. Nothing else mattered and everything around him on the physical plane didn't exist anymore during the battle. His body remained tense and taught against the chains as his wards weakened further, Baldivan resisted Flaatom's carnal and chaotic nature, nearly being overwhelmed a few times. They danced their dance on the edge of the knife, focused on ending the other, too consumed in their mental battle to notice anything on the physical plane. If either did, it would surely spell the end for the distracted. Van kept fighting, pushing his everything into beating down Flaatom.  
"Shivarra," Raszagal's tone was dull as it caught the demoness' attention. "Enough games. The real test begins."  
"As you wish," the shivarra cooed a sultry voice. Two of her hands dropped the last remains of Baldivan's defenses. The hands then drew forth burning fel on their finger tips. With each snap of her fingers, a lash would erupt across Baldivan's form, burning and searing his flesh to try to draw his attention outward.

In the split second Baldivan's last defenses dropped, he mentally dug deeper. Then, his skin burned and seared, distracting him for the following split second. Flaatom took the opportunity, leaping at the elf, and they plunged into darkness. Baldivan struggling to lash out as Flaatom snapped its jaws onto Van's arm and drained him. Bound to the same body, Flaatom felt the pain with Baldivan, both spurned from the physical pain. Baldivan twisted and yanked his arm free, it going limp against his side, and he lashed out with the other warglaive and tore a gouge into Flaatom. Both weakened by the searing physical pain and their mental pain, they continued to fight. Baldivan lashed out again with his mental warglaive, slicing another wound into Flaatom. The demon yelped. With its movements slowed, Baldivan kept hacking away at it until he fell on top of it. In the physical world, he fell to the ground as the chains remained taught around him. "It's..." Van panted heavily, voice nearly gone, "done." Those were the only words he could manage for several minutes.  
Raszagal raised a hand to the Shivarr, who begrudingly knelt over the fallen illidari and powered his runes once more. The Knight relented her spell to give Baldivan the means to move freely. "I am rather disappointed. Not in you, Glaivereaver, but your demon. However, this does explain how you have managed to make it this far without proper training."  
Baldivan gasped for air as he struggled to push himself to his side to better see Raszagal. "It's... a weak demon," he panted. "I barely... oof..." He rolled to his back, taking a moment to relax and breathe deeply. His head lay awkwardly, his left horn still regrowing, forcing his face to the left.  
"That it is, and you succeeded against it rather us going through the test to strain you. Which means but one thing-" she lowered herself in squat beside Baldivan, her arms resting on her knees as she rasped, "You have –much- room to gro. You passed your first test. Your next will be the opposite. I will conduct this one myself, since Ms. Anguisheira does not possess the reservoir of fel that I do. But, we will do so another time, hm?" She lofted a brow and waited for Baldivan to chirp his answer.  
Baldivan raised one hand, giving her a thumbs up as he gulped down air. "Fel yes," he chirped and groaned. "May I... go home and snuggle my nightsaber plush now?" He grinned and chuckled hoarsely.  
Raszagal huffed a dry laugh and clutched his wrist to pull him to his feet as she rose to her own, "You may."


End file.
